does not seem true, after 3 years I'm back home. To my dear gray tower block in East Berlin c.so Soviet Union. Past 3 years not under the sun of the beaches of Venezuela to drink rum more socialist Chavez or lost among the marble halls of the mausoleum of Kim Il Sung in Pyongyang, but to re-educate them with rice & Marx & mosquitoes in a lovely gulag view of paddy in the Soviets of Vercelli . Yeah, my character almost imbolsita middle class in slippers and plaid needed a moist burst of healthy spirit pauperism, and a good buffing of Capital. Too many leaps Atlanticist, too individualistic, too little freedom of thought and collectivist spirit led our dear friends of the CGB (yes CGB that looks Balengo?) To "strongly invite" to a healthy and robust care in the area over the Red-cited. As they did read my mind, Stalin ... er god only knows!
"How long is your stay?" Trivial question, the revolutionary spirit does not care about certain things, for the collective good and the good of the Soviet Subalpine, everything takes a back seat. In fact, our Great Father of us all looked after and above all take our time "Fellow Citizens ... to ensure that return with renewed vigor to fulfill the great dream of the Revolutionary Socialist newspaper .
So I spent time with his feet among the rice paddies and boiled and seasoned with yet another of Mao's Little Red Book, the mosquitoes in the summer ("fascist insect" profiteer as blood-sucking red, just like the speculators on Wall Street) and rheumatism in winter: what else could I want to more? And the Khmer Rouge have been taught and how, or how to pass the time between the rice fields!
back to us, the coaches of the People, the approach of reassuring gates Mirafiori emerge a thousand memories of what I had left and what would meet again. Poetry majakovskiana troubled by the initial contact with a fellow countryman or with the doorman of the stable population No Companion xxx, stinking of vodka from potatoes Transnistrian poor quality (and, I add, perpetually smells of CGB: I wonder if I have him stay in Vercelli?) I team from top to bottom and said: "Good evening ... oh ... back from the goulash?"
Time: because for such a lightness to the gulag, and you really end up without tasting goulash, the gatekeeper first bleach, then do Timor-friendly blunt: "What am I saying?! I forgot ... correspondence from North Korea ... how are things there? But maybe he's tired, wants to return to his apartment .... " "Exactly" short cut "the North Korean comrades always tirelessly pursue the path of revolutionary socialism without any uncertainty. " "Yes yes! live the revolution, long live the revolution mate ... "he is quick to emphasize the meddler alcoholic.
In front of the house a combination of Pravda of backward people, some of my message and then I am finally on the couch svaccato busy hacking away on three television channels, rather than 6 channels on TV that are literally the "proliferation" after ' advent of the Parable Proletarian Earth that has irradiated the verb in each of Lenin of the Soviet Boita Subalpine.
Thus, of an edict of the Soviet Steel, a replica of a football game stretch (and yes, he came back, my dear bogia-nen) and a speech-mantra Evve to fly ten hours of the Father of the Socialist Revolution Subalpina, the ever-red Comrade Fausto, I wrote these lines of "well found" hiding, docet gulag, including an audiobook of Proudhon and a disc of CCCP.
incumbent and new ideas, as the hack instead of the Unity of Workers in the velvet jacket I have preserved: nothing but unemployment, check it out and depressed "Italian" in recession!
All this to remind you that ... " always just beat the Revolution on Two! "(ie, on the Channel Two TV, obsessively repeated as an exuberant presenter son-in).
